


When We Fight (We Fight Like Lions)

by Lepidopterrain



Series: In Slumber [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Brotherly Love, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Dreams, Fear gas, It's only implied though, Just for a moment at the very beginning, Light Angst, Lucid dreams, Most sibs are only mentioned sorry, The ever continuing tag, Whump, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepidopterrain/pseuds/Lepidopterrain
Summary: "Maybe it's 'cause I got a little bit olderMaybe it's all that I've been throughI'd like to think it's how you lean on my shoulderAnd how I see myself with you"- "Fire on Fire" by Sam SmithIn which, Damian reflects.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: In Slumber [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980194
Kudos: 38





	When We Fight (We Fight Like Lions)

Damian felt his heart thud against his chest, pounding against his ribs like the angry wings of a bird of prey. Gasping, shuddering, he did his best to hold still until he felt the familiar prick of a needle inside his elbow. Then, and only then, did he let himself fall and slip away.

He knew he was asleep.

And yet, it was in some ways more vivid than his conscious reality had ever been.

His boots thuded along the concrete roof, the familiar weight of it all causing an ache in his bones. This was a memory, probably, brought on by the unusual meeting between himself and the Gotham rogue from earlier today. It wasn't often that Crane left the shadowy city, it had been far too long since Ro--since _Damian_ \--had thought of him. He'd have to update his training, when he woke. 

"Hurry up! Hurry up! He's gonna beat us there!" 

There was a flash of gold, flushed cheeks, teasing eyes. Damian stopped, watching in awe, as she pulled ahead of him, purples and blacks fading into the shadows, but golden blonde streaming unmistakeably behind her. 

"Too late! I win!" 

Teasing smile, held taught by unshakeable tension, and tired eyes. Still, The form outlined in the full moon's light seemed glad to see them. The feeling from before, a bird's wings against his ribs, caught in his chest, stole the air from his lungs. Eyes that missed nothing lingered on him. "You alright, brat?" 

"Of course," Damian looked away. 

The bird caught his heart. Damian wondered if the feeling hadn't been his heart after all, trying to flee it's feathered pursuer. 

His elder siblings shrugged, taking off again. He followed. He didn't have to, this was his dream, but didn't he? He followed, watching gold and ebony curls fly loose in the wind, rooftops crunching beneath his boots and heart dying in his chest. Drake and Brown. 

Timothy and Steph. 

They'd been so _annoying_ with constant taunts and teases and distance. It had been like a dance, one step forward two steps back. But Damian remembered other times. Remembered the cool of a cage, the meeting of eyes and the _understanding._

Remembered the _rush_ as they'd trusted him to understand, trusted him as he had lunged forward, taking hands in his own, _catching._ Remembered quiet comments over meals, shared experiences from patrol, always just under the surface but never fully talked about. Remembered how their soft mentions caused his own lips to curl, lightness stifled and caught before his father could see. 

Remembered the fingers tangling in his hair, gold strands sometimes found later stuck to his suit, and teasing prods and attempts to paint his nails. Constant annoyance and nicknames and smells of popcorn burnt and too much butter greasy on his fingertips. The feeling of being pressed to a chest not entirely hardened by muscles like Grayson's had been and curling into the warmth and stinging sweet of vanilla perfume. 

Damian remembered. He _always_ remembered. 

The scene changed. 

Damian watched, remembering, as his father and Timothy went over something that had happened during a joint patrol. It had been the first time he'd begruding realized it didn't sting. Not really, not as he'd always forced himself to believe it had. Because it hadn't, not since his father had come back. Not really. 

Robin, it had been explained to him once, was meant to be the light to Batman's darkness. His link to reality, out of the haze and fear of his own mind. It was a large task, too much to ask of any person. And that, he supposed, had been why there had been so _many_ Robins. And yet, as he'd watched, he realized he was watching Batman and Robin in a way that made Damian's chest ache and yearn and _remember._ Because Drake had been Batman's Robin, the quips and soft mannerisms brining his father out of the darkness in coaxing ways Damian couldn't fathom achieving. But Damian was Robin as well, for a man far less cloaked in the darkness, but lost in his own way. And that, that wasn't _wrong._ Timothy couldn't have been Richard's Robin any better than Damian could call himself Bruce's Robin. Because it was like trading out puzzle pieces. They may look like they belonged, but they'd never really _fit._

And Damian, he realized, had accepted that long before he had thought of it. 

He remembered the quiet smile tugging at his own lips as Drake danced around on graceful feet in his memory, trying to snag a mug of coffee before being given his orders to go to bed. Remembered following on silent feet, but somehow being anticipated, and curling up comforters that smelled of warm and bitter and brother and being allowed the rare indulgence of treating wounds and icing bruises and being given the same in kind before retreating to his own place. 

It was gone again.

Damian remembered the ice in his eyes and the tears barely held back and the _hate._

Remembered as the bird of prey had descended, claws outstretched. The dragon not far behind, remembered running or flying, not sure who was escaping. Who was it? Robin? Or the boy? 

His chest ached again. 

He remembered seeing his reflection once in Robin's eyes. Remembered seeing a monster. 

There had been a retreat into a space, that was his, that was a monster's nest (but not a robin's) and treating wounds and icing bruises and wondering how to treat the pain of his own continued existence. It had only been a few days after that, that he'd ran. 

He woke.

The room was empty. He'd been settled back into his bed to sleep out the toxin. And that was fine. This was fine. It was _empty_ and was not a _nest_ not for monsters or robins or _Robins_ , but it was fine. With a sigh, he glanced over his body, taking note of the darkening bruises and wounds that hadn't really been _treated_ but seemed to at least be slick with antibiotic oil. And that, that was _nice._

At least it was something _real,_ though non-personal. And that, that was fine. 

It was.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello loves. Long time, no see. How are you doing, have you had water today? Did you sleep well last night? 
> 
> Hope you're doing well. 
> 
> Remember to love each other, stay safe, stay healthy. See you next time.


End file.
